A tool clangs in the background as Gladys answers. Before she even says hello there's a muffled noise and FP knows she's balancing the phone on her shoulder so she can continue whatever task she's on. From the metal on metal noise, he figures she's in a garage.

She could never stand to do one thing at a time. Images flood his mind of a younger Gladys, rocking Jughead in his stroller with her foot as she folded laundry or leaning over a dog eared paperback as she cooked dinner.

"FP Jones," she finally says, her voice somewhere between amusement and sarcasm, "as I live and breathe."

It's still a friendlier greeting than what he had expected. He drums his fingers against the linoleum counter and blurts out, "You wanna come home for Christmas?"

It's a long pause. Another clang in the background. Gladys' breath slows and he thinks she might actually be holding the phone with her hand for once.

"I am home, FP." Her voice isn't unkind, but it's lost a little of it's natural tease. He knows she picks her next words carefully. "But I may not say no if you boys want to hike your asses to Ohio for a few days."

He drops the phone when there's a bang on the door - someone knocking on the aluminum in just the wrong place - and manages to grab it by the cord before it hits the ground.

"I - well, we -" he stutters into it, but Gladys cuts him off.

"Better get that," she drawls, her voice with a little more edge than usual. "Might be your parole officer." She's probably right too because half the Serpents wouldn't bother knocking in the first place.

"I, uhh -" He gulps loudly, knowing it can probably be heard across the phone and through the thin door. "Just hold on a second, okay?"

Another knock, not quite as aggressive as the first, comes as FP struggles to stretch the cord to the door. He runs a hand through his hair and smooths his flannel shirt before opening it with a grimace, hoping his parole officer's in a better mood than last time.

Only it's not his parole officer.

"Ta da!" Fred Andrews cries out, thrusting a large branch towards the screen door. There's a Santa hat perched sideways on his head and a smile on his face so bright FP can't believe the two of them exist in the same universe, much less the same trailer. "Merry Christmas!"

FP's eyes dart either way on the small porch, half expecting to see Archie or Jughead tailing behind Fred, snake to his back pushing him to visit, but there's no one. Just Fred Andrews smiling his heart out like he's a 16-years-old who just landed a date for the roller rink on Saturday night, not a man in his mid-40s with a bullet wound still fresh on his chest.

"Merry Christmas!" Fred repeats when FP still doesn't open up. He pops the flimsy handle on the screen door - it wasn't locked, was never locked, even with the threat of this so-called serial killer around - and gestures Fred in. "Jughead said a small one."

Fred holds out the branch to FP who just eyes it slowly before taking them from Fred.

"This is a huge branch, Freddy," is all that comes out. Fred snickers.

"It's a tree!" he insists, shrugging his jacket off and holding up the tree stand he's brought in as well. "You're lucky one comes with free installation."

There's a small laugh that makes him jump and it takes a few seconds to realize the phone is still clutched in his hand, estranged wife still on the line.

"Shit. Gladys?" he holds the receiver back to his ear but she's already shushing him. "Sorry, it's just -"

"Have fun with Freddy," she coos, her voice soft again. "Juggie told me you too were back on good terms."

"That's a way to put it," he says quietly, eyeing the other man in the room. The tininess of the trailer never really sunk in until there was someone else in there with you. "About Christmas -"

"Just show up on Christmas morning or don't, okay?" Her voice is kind. "And I won't hold it against you if it's latter. Just remember to tell Santa your daughter is really into vinyl right now."

"Jellybean. Yeah. And what're you into right now?" But the dial tone is already buzzing in his ear. "Tell Jellybean I miss her," he says to no one. Fred shoots him a look like he knows there's no one on the line anymore but he doesn't call him out. "Love you guys."

He makes the awkward shuffle to the kitchen to put the corded phone back on it's cradle. Maybe he should have sprung for a cordless one back in 1998 when they seemed to be so popular. When he gets back to the living room, Fred is waiting for him on the floor, hands outstretched. FP looks around for a minute before he realizes he's still holding the branch.

"You -" he shakes his head a few times. "Freddy, I - we don't have room in here for a tree."

"Can't have lights up if you don't have a tree." Fred nods to the Christmas lights hanging around the ceiling and FP doesn't have the nerve to tell him he never took them down from two Christmas ago.

He eyes the branch in his hand. "There's hardly room for whatever this is. You didn't have to -"

"Whatever that is!" Fred's mock annoyance makes him smile in spite of himself. "That is the tree, Jones. Your Christmas tree, picked with care and hand delivered after hours and that's the response I get."

FP looks at it. "You're kidding, right?"

Fred crawls the few inches towards him and yanks the tree from his hands. The stand was already set and unscrewed on the floor. He delicately started tightening the bolts so it stood upright. FP is sure if he goes too fast he'll snap the little thing right in half.

Fred grumbles under his breath the whole time, but it's all for naught because FP knows him well enough to know he's teasing. To know he's probably been planning this trip for weeks.

"Hey, Freddie," FP asks as Fred is checking out the balance. Even with the screws tightened all the way, the tree is still lopsided, the trunk just too thin. Fred holds it straight. "I thought you got quality trees at the lot."

Fred beams, still not looking at him. "Some of the best in the state. You know that."

"Yeah?" FP rubs the fresh stubble on his face. "Then why'd you bring me something even Charlie Brown couldn't fix up?"

He gets up slowly, finally letting go of the tree and letting it tilt again, the stance it'll probably stay in until it's tossed out sometimes around Valentine's Day. For a split second, FP wonders if he took it too far. Fred's face is stony as he takes the three steps towards him, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He shakes his head.

"I'm ashamed of you." FP's mouth falls open, but Fred doesn't let him talk. "I have made you watch A Charlie Brown Christmas nearly every year since the fourth grade and you're going to tell me you can't remember that Linus is the one who fixes up the tree?"

They stare down each other for a few seconds, but Fred breaks first, lips curling into a grin. "Got you."

FP chuckles and hits Fred's arm lightly. He wonders if the move was wrong, either too intimate or rough considering his fragile state, but FP swears he leans into him, same way the tree leans for dear life against the stand.

A joke. If anyone was a leaning tree in need of saving here it was him, not Fred.

FP stares at the branch. "It's a sad little thing, but it kind of pulls the room together, doesn't it?"

"The only thing pulling this room together," Fred juts his chin to the wall, "is the Big Mouth Bobby Bass over there." He whistles. "Miracle Gladys never took a hammer to it." There's a long pause. "You should go see her for Christmas."

FP shrugs. "Maybe."

It's Fred's turn to clap him on the arm. His hand doesn't come off though. It lingers until he meets Fred's eyes.

"Did Jughead ask you to come over here?" he blurts out. Fred doesn't let go. Just squeezes his arm a little tighter.

"Nope."

"Archie?"

"Nope."

"Then why?"

"It's Christmas, FP." He's so earnest that FP sees a flash of the boy Fred was thirty years ago. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, before the world took its toll on either of them. FP's hand is on his before he knows what's happening. "No one should spend Christmas alone."

Their hands clasp together on FP's arm for ten seconds or ten minutes, he can't be sure. When they break, Fred looks around.

"Got a blue blanket by any chance?" he asks. "Maybe a single red ball? Gotta decorate this thing after all."

FP laughs like he hasn't in years. Maybe he'll take one more shot at getting Gladys and Jellybean to come to Riverdale for Christmas. Or maybe he and Jughead will head over there.

Either way, he's going to make sure Fred Andrews isn't alone for Christmas either.